


slipcue

by deplore



Series: VRAINS - music AU [1]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Music, Clubbing, Dancing, Grinding, M/M, Making Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 16:44:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13721835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deplore/pseuds/deplore
Summary: Nightclub AU. For the first time in approximately a blue moon, Playmaker finds himself on the dancefloor instead of the turntables.“I thought you didn’t dance,” Revolver says, raising his voice just loud enough to be heard over the music pounding through the club.“I don’t,” Playmaker shouts back; he briefly shifts his glare off of Revolver to glance over at the turntables where Blue Angel is playing her set, which is enough to tell Revolver exactly who kicked Playmaker down to the dancefloor. “And I thoughtyouwere banned from this club.”“I’m banned everywhere that matters, but has that ever stopped me?” Revolver replies.





	slipcue

 

Revolver begins to get the feeling that the night is going to go well when he spots Playmaker in the middle of the dancefloor, looking incredibly annoyed as he’s jostled through the crowd of dancing partygoers. Neatly, he slips through the throng of people and pulls up his hood slightly to let Playmaker get a brief look at his face as he draws nearer. Immediately, Playmaker gives him a death stare and begins trying to finds an escape route, but Revolver takes advantage of the density of people around them to cut off Playmaker’s attempt to make a hasty exit.

“I thought you didn’t dance,” Revolver says, raising his voice just loud enough to be heard over the music pounding through the club.

“I don’t,” Playmaker shouts back; he briefly shifts his glare off of Revolver to glance over at the turntables where Blue Angel is playing her set, which is enough to tell Revolver exactly who kicked Playmaker down to the dancefloor. “And I thought _you_ were banned from this club.”

“I’m banned everywhere that matters, but has that ever stopped me?” Revolver replies.

One of the people dancing near them bumps into Playmaker, who stumbles forward and into Revolver’s chest briefly. Up close, Revolver can see an uneven smear of shiny gloss over Playmaker’s lips, and he can pretty much guess how Playmaker’s night has gone so far. Most likely, after Blue Angel ingloriously dropkicked him onto the dancefloor, he’s been attempting fruitlessly to ride the human wave towards the edge of the crowd while avoiding any people who are either too intoxicated to recognize him as the most infamously misanthropic DJ in Den City and try to make out with him in their ignorance, or who are daring enough to recognize it as an opportunity to try to make out with him. All efforts to remain aloof, it appears, have gone poorly.

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m so not in the mood for any of your bullshit tonight,” Playmaker says, brusquely pushing Revolver away from him, “so if you’re going to hijack the speakers or something, then at least wait for me to leave so I don’t get caught up in it.”

It takes about three seconds before somebody else bumps into Playmaker and forces him closer to Revolver yet again; Playmaker makes an irritated noise in his throat and seems to resign himself to his fate. “You could try dancing,” Revolver says, openly amused.

“There’s a reason I DJ, you know. It’s so that I’m safe up there – ” Playmaker gestures vaguely towards the turntables – “and away from all the people down _here_.”

“Then, you could stop coming to the clubs altogether,” Revolver offers.

“So could you, considering you’re supposed to get kicked out on sight, but has that ever stopped you?” Playmaker says, tossing back Revolver’s own words at him with a sneer to boot. Revolver gets it, though – Playmaker might dislike being around people, but he can’t give up on music – creating it, producing it, improvising the perfect sets to match with the atmosphere. It’s that dichotomy of identity that makes him so interesting, Revolver thinks.

And that’s also why Revolver can’t always stop himself from goading Playmaker; he smirks and replies, “Sounds to me like you probably can’t dance.”

“I can,” Playmaker says stiffly, but there’s a rather telling pause before he answers, because Revolver imagines that Playmaker has already anticipated what he’s going to say next.

“Then prove it,” Revolver returns smoothly.

Playmaker’s already impressively baleful glare turns even darker. “This is some fucked-up way of flirting with me, isn’t it?” he asks. “You want to bait me into grinding my ass up on your crotch and then laugh while you claim _that’s not even proper dancing_ or whatever.”

“First of all, I’ve been flirting with you since we started talking,” Revolver returns. “Second, it sounds a lot like you’re avoiding the topic because you can’t dance. And third… I’ll make it worth your while if you play along.”

“I sincerely despise you,” Playmaker says, but without any real weight to the words. It can’t be heard over the sound of music, but judging by the look on his face, he sighs sharply before turning around and grabbing each of Revolver’s hands, holding them between his own hands and his hips, performing a perfunctory little body rotation as he settles into the song. Revolver doesn’t pay much mind to all the other local DJs, but he knows Playmaker’s musical preferences fairly well – he likes mixes with heavy bass linking each song into the next, carefully controlling the beat to respond to how the crowd is feeling – so he isn’t surprised that Playmaker has a good sense of rhythm in the way that he moves his body, matching the fast-paced song playing over the speakers.

What does take him off guard is how aggressively self-confident Playmaker is about it; even though he claimed he could dance, Revolver would guess with at least 85% certainty that Playmaker has spent maybe a total of twenty minutes on the dancefloor in his entire life until this night, and so has decided to make up for experience with sheer resolve. There’s not even the slightest bit of shame in him as he gyrates his hips, pressing his weight backwards so that his back is flush against Revolver’s chest, tilting his head back slightly so that it rests on Revolver’s shoulder.

Revolver swallows as Playmaker interlaces their fingers, firmly holding his hands in place to stop them from wandering before it even occurs to Revolver to try slipping them a little lower – but he doesn’t mind it too much, not when Playmaker’s palms are so warm against the backs of his hands. _Oh_ , Revolver thinks, _I got more than I bargained for here_.

Playmaker does have a knack for breaking Revolver’s expectations, though, and Revolver wouldn’t even mind admitting that’s what keeps him coming back to this back-and-forth between them. Revolver decides to tell himself that he’s just giving as good as he’s getting when he yanks his right hand free of Playmaker’s hold so that he can slide his palm over Playmaker’s face to cover his eyes and coax him to turn his head – he can feel Playmaker freeze up when he presses their lips together in an open-mouthed kiss, and he considers breaking it off – but then Playmaker all but melts into the kiss, responding with an eagerness that feels like little electric shocks pulsing through both of their bodies.

Revolver’s not sure how long they go on like that, mutually unthinking in favor of satisfying baser desires, but the song fades out and into a slower one; it feels like a natural place for things between them to slow down too, so Revolver pulls back. That smear of gloss on Playmaker’s lips is gone now and Revolver can taste something sweet on his own – he decides to not let his brain lapse into romanticizing the moment and instead seizes upon the fact that the people around them are less turbulent now that the music is less intense to lead Playmaker through the crowd and to a more secluded part of the club, away from the speakers and close to one of the emergency exits.

“You didn’t mention anything about making out beforehand,” Playmaker says, as soon as Revolver stops. His tone is carefully unreadable, but it takes a second before he finally tugs his hand out of Revolver’s grasp.

“You kissed back,” Revolver points out, folding his arms to keep his hands occupied. “I think you enjoy playing this game, Playmaker, you just won’t confess.”

“Is that what this is to you? A game?” Playmaker retorts.

There’s a pause before Revolver says, “Calling it a game is only a metaphor, Yusaku.”

“I’ve told you over and over again _not_ to call me that in public, or preferably at all,” Playmaker replies, openly exasperated. Revolver’s pretty sure that Playmaker’s more irritated because he’s figured out that Revolver only uses his real name whenever Revolver wants to avoid discussing how serious he is about the undefined relationship between them, and less because he still cares about maintaining his persona. “You can confess something if you want to hear a confession, Revolver.”

“Alright, I’ll confess. If grinding is dancing,” Revolver says, perfectly flat-faced, “then sure, I admit it. You can dance.”

“Don’t pretend like that’s not exactly what you wanted,” Playmaker replies, looking like he’s actively resisting the urge to roll his eyes. But the important thing is that he lets Revolver get away with his non-answer, apparently willing to take the cue to de-escalate the conversation before one or both of them say something that can’t be taken back so easily.

“I’ll let you make your assumptions,” Revolver says off-handedly. “Also, you should leave before Go starts his set. He’s not going to be getting very far into it.”

Playmaker sighs heavily. “Yeah, I should’ve figured. That was hardly worth my while, Revolver.”

The truth is, Revolver’s original plan was to start partway through Blue Angel’s set, but he keeps that to himself. “Then next time, do a better job of making me show my hand beforehand,” he says. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some business to take care of before I can get things going.”

“I didn’t see you and you didn’t see me,” Playmaker immediately replies, straightening up his posture before the two of them step past each other – leaving each other without proper farewells has already become standard course, to avoid the complications that would come with trying to close out their open endings. Besides, whether through destiny or opportunism, both of them know that it’s only ever a matter of time before their paths cross again – and when they do, Revolver thinks, it’ll almost certainly be another night that goes well.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't want my first VRAINS fic to be like this (self-indulgent from the make-outs to the mutual but unresolved feelings) but I was happy enough to finally finish writing any.... VRAINS fic.... so here it is. this is a cry for help please help me before i completely burn in revoyu hell
> 
> Also, here are some irrelevant facts about this AU that I thought up as some weird form of stress relief, fruitless worldbuilding for settings I may or may not ever return to:
> 
>   * Sol Technologies is a recording company and Yusaku is bitter and mad all the time because he got burned on a record deal with them when Kogami was a producer there 
>   * But then Kogami left the company anyway and formed his own label (Hanoi Records). Revolver is the main talent there and he performs all sorts of weird guerrilla advertisement stuff like showing up at clubs and hijacking the DJs to play his own sets. He's fairly popular in the general public, but local DJs understandably hate him ha ha. 
>   * BUT ALSO Revolver and Yusaku knew each other from before any drama went down. Yusaku occasionally reminisces about his early Soundcloud days when there was this One User (Revolver on an alternate account) who always left nice comments on his new music and encouraged him to make music for a living. Upon hearing the story for the first time, Revolver was like Oh Shit... That's Me but felt like he shouldn't admit it and just let Yusaku do his thing.
> 



End file.
